Tony and the Tiger
by Ursa Dextra
Summary: Hancock's Half-Hour: There's a big cat on the loose in East Cheam. Can our intrepid hero wrestle it into submission with his bare hands and carry it back to the zoo? Don't be silly, he's poorly.


It's just another afternoon in Railway Cuttings. Hancock, having been feeling sick for the past couple of days and assured by the doctor that morning that it's 'just a bug', is languishing in his room feeling sorry for himself. Sid is sitting at the dining table polishing up some fake diamonds, ready to sell on to an acquaintance later in the day. All is quiet.

"Sid!" Calls Hancock from his bed. "_Siiiid_!"

Footsteps come banging up the stairs, and the bedroom door opens a crack.

"What do you want _now_?" demands Sid from without, "I'm going out in a minute. I've got someone to see."

"Oh, of course you are," Hancock sighs, in a much more pitiful tone than the one that carried all the way downstairs, "going to have some fun while I'm stuck here in bed with who-knows-what, all alone..." he coughs weakly and lets his head loll sideways as his voice trails off.

"Not fun, boy – business. _Big_ business. You and me are going to eat for a month!"

"Oh, I don't know if I'll eat at all this month – or next month. I feel so awful."

"Well, I'll eat for four or five months then. What did you want?"

"I'm sure the doctor's wrong, you know. This can't just be a bug. I might be going to die. It might be cholera. I bet it's cholera. Can't you call the doctor to see me again?"

"No! He said he didn't want you wasting any more of his time –"

"Wasting his time?!" shrieks Hancock with a sudden burst of energy, "Is _that_ what he said when I wasn't listening? I happen to be gravely ill, I'm all feverish and..."

"Look, I'm going past Mrs. Crevatte's house, I'll ask her to come round and see to you. Happy?"

"Oh no, not her! You know what happened when I had that cold last winter. Pushing my bed around, waving that broom about, what all that was supposed to do I'll never know. No, don't send her, call the doctor. Tell him I'm getting worse or something."

"I'll tell her to just come and keep you company, I'm not going to keep pestering the doctor. I've got to go and meet this bloke, anyway. I'll see you later."

"Oh, alright then, that'll have to do. Better than getting stuck up here all alone, anyway. I'll see you later then, have a nice time without me." He sighs, and curls up under his covers. "Oh, and – Sid?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you bring me a glass of water?"

"Alright, one glass of water."

"...And the radiogram?"

"I'm not carting that thing up here! You might feel better for getting up and about, anyway. In fact, get your own glass of water. I'm off out. I'll ask Mrs. Crevatte to come and keep you company. See you tonight."

"Oh, you monster!" cries Hancock to the closed door, "How can you say that to me, in my delicate state? I'm very sick, you know - you _monster_!"

But Sid's footsteps are retreating down the staircase, and out of the front door. Resigned to going without his glass of water, Hancock stares at his bedroom ceiling for half an hour or so, until Mrs. Crevatte lets herself in and comes up the stairs to find him.

"Ohhh, Mr. Hancock, I heard you was sick!" she cries in a doom-laden wail as she hauls her broom an carpet bag through the door. "Oh yes, you looks very unwell to me."

"No, I'm not well at all. Will you bring me some water?"

"I see what you done. You moved your bed, didn't you? I told you all about the power of the moon, didn't I? The moonbeams can't reach you over there. I'll turn your bed round."

"Oh not the moonbeams, they get in my eyes! I can't sleep with the moonbeams in my eyes. _Please_ bring me a glass of water."

"What's you want a glass of water for?" asks Mrs. Crevatte, in a tone that suggests this is an unexpected and very silly demand.

"To sail a very small yacht in, I suppose. What do you think I'd want some water for?! What does a very sick man need to do to get a drink around here – set myself on fire? Don't make me set myself on fire! I will you know, and it'll be your fault."

"Alright, calm down Mr. Hancock, I'll bring you your glass of water. Then I'll sweep the ailment out of this room, and we'll see what's in my bag."

She fetches the water; as the patient sips it slowly (so as to avoid shocking his stomach) she swishes the brush around the room in circles and figure-eights, muttering incantations, and finishes by shaking it out of the window. He sits up and watches all this with interest, but doesn't forget to tut and roll his eyes when her back is turned. Eventually she comes to sit on the bed beside him, the carpet bag open on her lap.

"Well Mr. Hancock, I got some conkers here."

"Conkers? I'm in no fit state for playing conkers. Besides, we don't have any string."

"No, no no! I puts them under your pillow, you see, to soak up all your ills. Then you puts them in the bin..."

"No, really, I can't see all this helping me. Can't you just tell me some news or something?"

"News? What sort of news?"

"Well, you know – what's going on in the outside world? How's East Cheam getting on without me?"

"Well – there's a big cat wandering round?" she ventures after a moment's consideration.

"A big cat?" he says semi-sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "Where's that come from, then?"

"Ooh, I wouldn't know that, Mr. Hancock. No-one's said they've lost one. It came right through my garden the other evening – most enormous beast I ever did see."

"You've _seen_ it – you're _sure_?!" there's a note of panic in Hancock's voice.

"Oh, yes. Came right over my back fence. Course, I'm keeping my doors shut now, I don't want it thinking it can be sneaking in when it wants a snack. _Huge_ creature. All covered in stripes, it was."

"You mean... you mean –it's... it's a - !"

"Now, don't you panic yourself, Mr. Hancock. Nothing to worry about. You just lie down and get some rest." She pushes him back down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to his nose. "Now, this here is the last green leaf of the year from the old oak tree in the park. It goes under your pillow, see. That's to protect you from dark things. They always attacks the sick, you see."

"Like... like tigers? Will it protect me from tigers?!"

"Yes yes, whatever it is scares you, that's to keep you safe. Is there anything else before I goes? Only I has to meet my granddaughter from school, so I can't stop."

"Aren't you worried?"

"Of course not. Like I says, nothing to worry about."

"Well – if you're sure."

"I'll be on my way, then."

"Oh, Mrs. Crevatte – before you go?"

"Yes?"

"Would you bring the radiogram up here for me?"

"No, don't be ridiculous! Go downstairs and listen to it, it might do you good to get up and about. I'll be off then."

And with that, she shuts the door and clomps away down the stairs. Hancock reaches for the oak leaf, his first thought being to tear it up in spite, but then remembering the tiger he pops it back under his pillow. Just in case. It's probably safe in here anyway, but – you can't take any risks with a big cat on the prowl around the neighbourhood. Unless you're Mrs. Crevatte, apparently. Maybe she's got a talisman or something to protect her from big cat attacks, or maybe she's just very brave.

With nothing to do until Sid returns, our hero drifts into a half-sleep, and then into a half-dream; the wooden floorboards turn to tree roots, the rug takes on the appearance of a pile of leaves. The evening light streaming through the window and door could almost be shafts of light through branches, his bed a bivouac in the jungle; and the shuddering growl of a passing car... the approaching footsteps... the hand on his shoulder...

"Aaargh, no, nooo!" he squeals, thrashing at the air. "Nooo, help, help! Tiger!"

"Hancock, wake up." Sid's voice breaks through from the realms of wakefulness. "It's me. You're dreaming."

Hancock opens his eyes to find his field of vision dominated by the face of his housemate. Screaming again, he pulls the covers over his head and curls up there, quivering and whimpering.

"Here, I brought you that glass of water. Come on, it was only a bad dream, what's wrong with you?"

"Oh, Sid! It's you. I - I thought you were the tiger. Oh god, you frightened the life out of me. I thought the tiger had got me."

"It's alright, boy. You're awake now. There's no tigers in East Cheam. Here, drink your water."

"There are, there are – haven't you heard? Mrs. Cravatte's seen one, she told me!"

"No, she hasn't." Sighs Sid, a little exasperated. "Come on now, wake up or I'll pour this water over your head."

"I _am _awake, Sid! There _is_ a tiger outside! Why don't you believe me?"

"Hmm. You _are_ ill, aren't you. What's your name?"

"You know my name."

"I want to know what _you_ think it is."

"Well, I'm Anthony Hancock, aren't I? Same as yesterday. What else would I think my name was?"

"Good, well done!" smiles Sid, patting Hancock's face is what is supposed to be a congratulatory manner. "And where do you live?"

"I live here, twenty three Railway Cuttings. With you. Don't I?" He is beginning to feel slightly uncertain.

"Yes, that's right – very good! And where's the tiger?"

"Out there, outside! In the street! In Mrs. Crevatte's garden – she said she's locked the door in case it sneaks in and eats her granddaughter! There is, there really _is_ Sid, why would I lie? There's a tiger in East Cheam!"

"Yes, alright," Sid says reassuringly as he moves towards the door. "I'll call the doctor."

"No, no, don't do that – I won't have the doctor getting attacked by a wild beast on my account! I'd never live it down. Everywhere I went, people would say..."

"Shhh, shhhh... Don't get yourself worked up, you're in a delicate condition. You just drink your water, lie down, I'll sort something out for you, OK? Shhh... Leave it to me."

"Well – I'm glad you've finally realised just how serious my condition is. But I'm not going outside until that cat is caught."

"Yeah, of course you aren't. Shhhh... go back to sleep."

Sid closes the door and tip-toes downstairs. He'd been on a high when he came in, after earning more than he'd expected for his dodgy diamonds, but now he's become quite unsettled. Of course, having lived with Hancock for several years he's perfectly used to his friend's neuroses and hysterical outbursts, but they have always been, basically, attention-seeking; this is something quite different. In fact, for a moment he was almost convinced that there really was a big cat prowling the streets outside himself... But that would be ridiculous. There'd be alerts on the news about an escaped tiger, mass panic, teams out searching. Wouldn't there? Yes, there would, he tells himself. There definitely would. No, the only potentially dangerous beast around here is that one upstairs – what's he going to start believing next? Hopefully the doctor can stuff him full of sedatives or section him or something in case he turns violent.

He calls the surgery, only to find that it's closed for the night, and tries the doctor's home number instead. The doctor, unhappy to have been disturbed in the middle of his dinner on behalf of the local drama queen, takes a lot of persuading but eventually agrees that, as it's an unusual situation, he will see Mr. Hancock at his house in half an hour. So all that remains for Sid to do is to get him there. He returns to his friend's bedside, struggling to think up ways of coaxing him out of the door.

"Hey, Hancock. Err..."

"Yes? Is everything arranged?"

"Yeah, yeah. Funny thing, actually – I called the doctor, he said that he was told that your mean old tiger, he got gobbled up by... err... a bigger tiger. But the bigger one, he got terrible indigestion, you see, and couldn't move at all. So a couple of blokes from the zoo just picked him up, stuck him in a van, and carried him off back home. So it's safe to go out!"

"Rubbish!" sniffs Hancock with derision. "You expect me to believe that, do you? Ha! Tigers only eat people, Sid. I've seen it on the cartoons."

"No, tigers eat Frosties! Not people. You can walk around with them as much as you like as long as you're not a bowl of Frosties. Come on!"

"What _are_ you talking about? What do you want me to go out for – are you going to use me as bait?! You want to use me as bait, don't you – then you can have the house. Oh, some friend you are!"

"No, calm down, no-one's using you as bait! Look, I talked to the doctor, yeah? He's gone home for the day, but he says that seeing as it's you – seeing as it's _you _– he's willing to have a look at you in half an hour if we go round to his house. He might have some medicine. Nice, tasty medicine."

"Oh! Oh, I see. I'm sorry, Sid. I... Hmm. Seeing as it's _me_..."

"Yeah. Just for _you_. He wouldn't usually see patients after hours unless it was an emergency, but for the great Anthony Hancock he'll make an exception."

"Yes. Ooh... yes. A special exception... just for _me_... and there might be some _medicine_..." He considers this development carefully for a moment or two, biting his lip and frowning. "Hmm. I don't know how brave a I feel, you know, what with being so poorly, but – maybe if I took my old army rifle..."

"Yes, that's the spirit. We'll show that cat who's boss, won't we?"

"Yes, we will. We will. I'll get dressed."

"There, that's right. Well done. I'll see you at the door in five, then."

Sid descends the staircase and begins putting on his boots, feeling slightly disgusted with himself. Flattery is always a reliable method of coercion, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Presently, Hancock joins him in the hallway with the gun over his arm.

"I can't find any bullets," he says in a quavering voice as Sid bundles him into his coat and hat, "maybe we ought to stay in."

"That old tiger's going to run off just at the sight of you with that gun!" Sid says cheerily, ushering his housemate towards the door. "Come on, let's get going." He can clearly remember losing all the bullets in an unusually desperate poker game several years ago, and had never quite got round to replacing them or informing their owner, which is why he'd agreed to taking the rifle.

"I don't know, Sid, I... I think I'm feeling slightly better. You were right, I did just need to walk around a bit. I don't think I'll go, after all. I'll just call the doctor and apologise for disappointing him. How about that, hey? We'll stay here and watch some telly instead. It's cold and dark out there anyway. It might rain."

"No, the doctor's waiting. We can't just not turn up now I've got you a special appointment. Come on, be brave."

"You still don't believe me, do you? You think I'm making all this up."

"I'm sorry to have to do this," sighs Sid as he wrestles Hancock into a headlock and drags him out of the door, "but if you're going to be difficult -"

"Aargh! Why are you being so awful to me, Sid? It's almost as if..."

"Shhh! Don't make a noise, or it'll hear you."

Hancock falls suddenly silent, frozen like a statue. His quick, shallow breathing forms tiny puffs of vapour in the chilly night air. Eventually he allows his handler to shepherd him down the street, but freezes again as they approach the corner and refuses to budge another step.

"Come _on_!" hisses Sid, giving him a nudge.

Hancock shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and gesticulates with his eyes towards a pair of dustbins under a streetlamp a few yards away.

"What, you think it's behind those bins? A tiger couldn't hide behind them, could it?"

"It's there." murmurs Hancock with absolute conviction. He raises the gun as if to shoot at them, the only trick he might possibly have to scare off the creature that, in his mind at least, is lurking behind them.

"No, it isn't. Look!" Sid strides towards the dustbins.

"Stop, stop - come back! Sid, _no_!" he turns away with a sob, shielding his eyes from the grizzly scene he's sure he's about to witness, and remains so until he hears a familiar voice behind him say "See, it was just a stray cat."

He peeks between his fingers with one eye, then with both. The animal struggling in Sid's precarious grip is indeed a domestic cat – it's hard to tell in the streetlight, but it seems to be a silver tabby. It manages to wriggle out of his hands, and as it falls to the floor dashes for the nearest solid object to hide behind, which happens to be Hancock. It twines around his ankles – or more accurately around his knees, as it's an unusually large specimen.

"A big cat..." he says to himself as he bends down to stroke it. "A huge creature... covered in stripes..."

"What's that?"

"That's what Mrs. Crevatte said she'd seen in her garden – a huge cat, all covered in stripes! Ha, ha! She didn't want it coming in her house, she said! Ha, ha, hahaha! Dear oh dear, how silly we've been, hey? Scaring ourselves half to death thinking there was a tiger walking the streets, when really it was just a big, stripy cat. Aren't we going to look a fine pair of fools?"

"Yeah, you've been very silly." growls Sid in a murderous tone.

"I'm going to call her... Betsy. She looks like a Betsy, don't you think? Here, hold the gun while I pick her up."

"You're not keeping it, it's covered in fleas."

"Betsy doesn't have fleas! Do you, puss-puss? No! Don't listen to Uncle Sidney. Come home with Daddy, and you shall have some milk." He scoops up the cat and cradles her in his coat, where she cuddles into the astrakhan collar and purrs as he toddles back the way he came, cooing about saucers of milk.

Checking no-one is around to see, Sid raises the rifle and mimes putting several bullets in his friend's back. Anger vented, he follows on behind and arrives back in the living room as Hancock is kneeling on the hearth lighting the fire and telling the cat, observing from a vantage point on the table, how it's done.

"Not going to the doctor's after all that, then?"

"No, no, I don't think I will. I feel quite a lot better for having had a little walk outside. You know, I might even manage some dinner. Make me a bacon sandwich, would you? And bring some milk for Betsy."

"Look, you're not keeping that cat."

"Sid, this is _my_ house, and if I want a cat I shall _have_ a cat."

"Well, don't ask me to feed it, or clean up after it, or let it out."

"Alright, I won't."

"And if it turns out she's got another family who are offering a reward, she's going to have to go."

"Oh, Sid! How _could _you?"

At this moment, the cat jumps off the table and wanders over to investigate Sid. Deciding he's probably harmless, she presses her head against his knee and maiows in atone that suggests introducing herself. He sighs and pats her briefly on the head, then goes to find a saucer to pour her milk into, mentally berating himself for having gone soft.

Meanwhile, back in the living room, the telephone rings and Hancock answers it.

"Oh, hello Doctor. Yes, well obviously I'm very sorry, but you see what happened was, I felt a lot better for having had some fresh air so – _what_? ...He said _what_? ...Hallucinations? ...No, nothing like that! I can't imagine why... Yes, just a tummy bug, like you said yourself this morning... No, no, I do _not_ need psychiatric help! ...Oh, he said _that_ did he?! ...Well, thankyou very much Doctor, severe words will be had. ...I will! Yes, I will! ...Thankyou. Goodnight."

As he hangs up, Sid returns with the saucer of milk, which he places in front of the cat. Hancock pulls himself into what he's always presumed is an imposing stance – one hand in the small of his back and the other on the table, the sternest look he can muster on his face.

"What's that look for, then?" snarls Sid. "I got the milk, didn't I? Did you want it brought on a silver tray by liveried footmen, or what?"

"Who do you think that was on the 'phone?"

"Well I don't know, do I?"

"I'll tell you who it was. It was the doctor."

"Yeah? Annoyed, is he?"

"He told me something very interesting, Sid. He told me that you'd said I was round the bend."

"Yes, well, I thought you were, didn't I? What am I supposed to think when you start telling me Mrs. Crevatte got chased by a tiger or whatever it was?"

"What if this gets out?" Hancock's voice takes on a tremor of pain. "What if the whole town thinks I'm insane?"

"Most of them already do, I should think."

"How dare you! What a thing to say."

As their argument escalates, the cat finishes her milk and listens with mild amusement whilst cleaning her whiskers. She then saunters over to where the half-lit fire is smouldering, and curls up to sleep on the hearth-rug.


End file.
